On the Trail of a Killer: Fairmont Finds Canine Cozy Mysteries, #1

Prologue

The woman of my dreams entered my life two months ago. Griselda Marek. Zella.

I enjoy her company above all others, and the dining has never been finer. Even her scent brings a lightness to my heart. She’s a woman I can quietly spend time with, but when she shares the small details of her day, that also brings me joy.

She entered my life at a particularly difficult time, and it was she who helped to pull me from the edge. I’d nearly lost myself in that dark place, but with her by my side I’ve rediscovered the gentleman within me.

It’s my deepest desire to make Zella happy. I owe her no less, since she rescued me from despair and quite possibly death.

My second greatest wish is to help her to find the man of her dreams.

Fairmont?

My lady calls.

1

Fairmont!" I called a second time before I saw his chocolatey head emerge from the breakfast room. I hadn’t seen him for an hour or so and was starting to worry that he’d slipped out the front door with an incautious visitor, even though I’d put a sign on the front door.

Have you been sunning yourself? I rubbed his sun-warmed, silky brown ears as he leaned his head against my leg. I was glad he’d found a quiet spot amidst the bustle and traffic of the estate sale.

Fifty-five pounds of spotted, stubby-tailed couch potato, that was Fairmont. A friend who’d had German Shorthaired Pointers in the past had told me that I should be prepared for some excitement. That after the honeymoon period, Fairmont would probably show his true rambunctious colors.

She didn’t know what she was talking about, did she? I scratched under his chin, and he groaned with contentment.

An older woman in a dated but meticulously kept Chanel suit approached with a determined expression. I recognized her from the neighborhood but couldn’t recall her name. She eyed the half-apron tied around my waist with a raised eyebrow. Apparently, it did not meet her sartorial standards.

Omitting any greeting—which failed to meet my neighborly standards—she asked, The piano’s for sale?

I was moving from almost four thousand square feet to nine hundred. I barely had a living room, let alone a music room in my new house. With only the tiniest twinge of regret, I replied, Yes, it is.

Fairmont heaved a sigh when I stopped petting him. He didn’t seem terribly upset to see his home deconstructed and removed via the front door, something I would have guessed a dog would find both confusing and upsetting. Then again, it hadn’t been his home for nearly as long as my own.

After inspecting my old Steinway thoroughly, the neighbor returned and offered half the value of the piano. Not for the first time, I wished that my daughter Greta had room for it.

I did a little math. I’d done very nicely on the dining set and my china, and I had no desire to move a piano. Decision made, I countered with a more reasonable sum that was still a fantastic deal.

Sold, she said. I’ll be by with a check this afternoon.

I pulled a sold tag from the deep pocket of my apron. I hope it brings your family the same joy it did ours.

It’s for my grandson. She shook her head. He’s in a band now, but he still plays for me when he visits. I hope he appreciates the upgrade.

A smile tugged at my lips. He was a musician, so I was guessing he would.

A thoughtful look crossed her face, and she said, You’re too young to be going into a home, so where are you off to?

A home? A home? I was forty-nine! You better believe I’m too young, you crazy old—

A cold nose nudged my hand. I knelt, focusing all of my attention on Fairmont. As I ran my hand along his spotted coat, my blood pressure dropped.

Looking at the neighbor I now remembered had always been blunt to the point of rudeness, I replied, in an equally blunt manner, After leaving my husband of almost thirty years, I should have left his house. It’s taken me two years, but I’m finally doing it.

She chuckled. Good for you. Start fresh. Then she leaned close enough that I was briefly overcome by the strong smell of expensive perfume. I never did like him.

"Well, I can’t say never, but you and I seem to have reached the same conclusion in the end."

Where are you off to? Your lover’s apartment?

I coughed, covering my mouth and my smile. Blunt might have been an understatement. I suddenly recalled her name: Mary.

Mary must have caught a glimpse of my amusement, because she shrugged. Has to be somewhere small if you’re selling everything. And why not with a lover? Some of us divorced ladies have to be getting lucky.

This time, I didn’t try to hide my amusement.

I’m sure that’s true. I hoped it was, though why Mary had pinned those hopes on me… "Well, I am moving to a smaller town and a smaller house, but it will just be Fairmont and me. I’m looking for a new start."

And that was what I got five days later when Fairmont and I pulled away from the now-empty house with a for sale sign in the yard.

2

She’s afraid.

I can smell the scent of fear. I know that scent—am intimately acquainted with it—but my lady shouldn’t smell of fear.

She should smell like the sun and the rain and the sweetest things in life. She usually does. But this car ride has frightened her.

Perhaps we travel to the doctor?

A shudder ripples through me, and memories of antiseptic smells and sharp needles dance in my head.

A glance at the back of the car, filled with all of my lady’s favorite items, reassures me that’s an unlikely destination. But whatever the cause, my lady’s distress is clear, so I try to stay awake to comfort her.

Contrary to my best efforts, the vibration of the car and the scenery whipping by in a blur lull me to sleep.

3

Fairmont and I arrived at our new house two hours later. I took a deep breath as I pulled into the drive, and Fairmont mimicked me with a big canine sigh as he woke from a long nap. I rubbed his ears. Running my fingers over their velvety softness soothed me for reasons I couldn’t explain.

My grand, life-changing adventure started two months ago when I adopted Fairmont.

A dog-friendly car had followed shortly thereafter. My ex had picked out and bought the sporty Mercedes I’d traded in. It had been a nice, reliable, fashionable car, but the Grand Cherokee was my car, chosen by me to meet the needs of my changing life. I patted the dash.

Fairmont and the SUV had only been the beginning. The changes had snowballed from there.

An estate sale, a house sale (two offers were pending), downsizing from almost four thousand square feet to less than a thousand, moving from Austin to White Sage.

And this, Fairmont, is our new life. I peered at the little box of a house, with its cream paint and black trim. We should paint the door. Something fun like purple or red, don’t you think?

He blinked sleepily at me, looking not the least bit enthused about painting.

Don’t worry. I’ll do all the difficult parts. You just have to keep me company. As I ran my hand across his spotted coat, his stubby tail wagged, but he stayed curled up in the seat.

According to what I’d read about the breed, Fairmont was a couch potato outlier. The same friend who’d told me that the end of Fairmont’s honeymoon period was coming (it had been coming, according to her, for six weeks now) had also been the one to warn me against adopting him initially. She’d predicted that he would be too much for me.

Good thing I didn’t listen to her. Right, buddy?

He yawned in response.

I shut the car off, but still I sat, staring at the façade of my new home. Opening the car door and walking into the house, that would make this new life official. I shook my head. You’d think selling the contents of our former home would have made it official.

His ears perked up. I’d swear sometimes that he understood me.

There’s no sunroom, but there’s a huge pecan tree in the middle of the backyard with all sorts of squirrels and birds for you to watch. I leaned over and kissed him on the head. His short tail wiggled. I whispered in his ear, Watch, not chase, okay?

His ears drooped for just a second, but then they perked up again as he watched something outside the SUV.

I turned to see what had caught his attention and found a woman headed at a good clip toward us. She had a determined look on her face.

Fairmont and I had been parked in the drive just long enough to gather the attention of a Nosy Neighbor.

It looks like White Sage isn’t so different from our neighborhood in Austin. I gave Fairmont’s ear one last rub for good luck, cracked the window a bit, then exited the car with a smile on my face.

Hi, I called out.

The woman who approached looked to be at least twenty years my senior, but she moved with the energy of a much younger woman. She lifted a hand in greeting and, when she was a little closer, said, Griselda Reed?

I extended my hand. I prefer Zella, and I use my maiden name now, Marek. Or, at least, I did as of three weeks ago. But you have very good information.

That comment made her grin. My granddaughter’s a real estate agent. I’ll have a chat with her about her outdated sources. Helen Granger—I live just around the corner. You’ve caught me on my midmorning walk.

She made it sound like there was more than one walk a day. Fairmont better not be eavesdropping or he’d start getting ideas.

You can give your granddaughter a pass. The name change is quite recent.

Just divorced? she asked, then frowned. I’m sorry. That’s absolutely none of my business. Her gaze drifted over my shoulder.

I glanced back at the car and saw that Fairmont was straining against his seatbelt harness. I latched on to him as an excellent excuse to avoid discussing my divorce. That was a topic my travel-weary self couldn’t politely manage, especially with a woman I’d known less than two minutes.

Do you mind? I gestured to the car and my impatient dog. We’ve been in the car for a few hours. He probably needs a bathroom break.

Not at all. My departed husband had pointers. And isn’t yours a handsome devil? She was clearly a dog lover, which made me briefly wonder why she didn’t have a four-legged buddy to accompany her on her walks.

I opened the door and had to push Fairmont back to get enough slack to unhook him. With my hand firmly on the leash, I stepped away from the driver’s door.

He hopped out, but he must have seen a squirrel (or some small, furry creature), because he didn’t give Helen even a passing glance or sniff. Without an ounce of hesitation, he galloped toward the house.

Maybe because I was tired from the drive and the start of my new adventure in White Sage, maybe I was just surprised—Fairmont was usually such a gentleman—but either way, he got the best of me. By the time I realized what was happening, my feet were already in motion.

With inertia, fifty-five pounds of doggie leverage, and surprise on his side, Fairmont had the